C’EST MOI:

I'm an atheist, anarchist writer. Angels, demons, gods and aliens are interchangeable here. I'm self-governed only by freedom of speech, as defined by Amnesty as a human right. I write fiction and non-fiction, under my own name and as a freelance copywriter and ghostwriter. I'm also an alcoholic with chronic depression.
I'm a regular contributor of short fiction to a webzine and I've had over 50 stories published online and in print. I've published two novels, two anthologies and an award-winning children's book. I'm working on other books and I continue to write short stories for a third collection.
The rest is contained within this blog, where I wear my heart on my left hand and tell it as it is, or how I see things.

Filing cabinet:

Previously:

Repetitive Strain Syndrome:

On Travelling

31.12.14 (Day 373)

12.42

I’ve travelled quite a bit in my life. As far as America at least; to the moon and back during twenty-odd years of commuting; walked a number of miles I don’t care to count; thought I’d settled in several relationships only for itchy feet to either cause me to run or kick me out. And I’ve travelled light millennia aboard Ghost Bird.

I can travel as far as I wish in my mind and it’s travelling vast distances in space and time which forms part of the basis for The Paradoxicon, the working title of my novel. But for the moment at least, my ship is grounded.

I’ve not got writer’s block as such: I’m writing this after all but this is written as I think, stream of consciousness stuff. And neither do I need to get the book itself off of the ground, as the first three chapters are written, at least in first draft form. But I’d forgotten how complex an exercise writing a novel is. I can do it. I’ve been told I can do it by my writing peers and by readers. The Paradox series of short stories have much merit and are the mere bare bones of something which could be so big. But I’m stuck and therefore taking a break and getting the writing arms flexed with this quick blog entry.

I have around twenty chapters planned for The Paradoxicon and I know roughly how each will advance the story. The challenge now is one of balance: to hold on to crucial information for just the right amount of time. There’s only so much padding which can be used in telling a story, even of novel length and every word must count, so less really is more. I’m at a junction where I can continue to build characters, or move into the inner subject matter of the book. If I enter into the latter too soon though, it could be too much too soon. So I’m contemplating and re-writing the chapter synopses in the hope of striking the right balance with the progression of the story. This blog could become the story of how I wrote a story: a story about a story; a story within a story.

Whilst I ponder, a few other things worthy of recording so that I might be reminded when I read back over this at a point in the future.

Most news is of the fairer sex kind: I am sans any interaction with females other than my nearest and dearest; and there are no complications with any: my sister, The Courts; my best mate Meg and my other best mate, Nettie. And the mother ship of course. The Wife has gone at least until the new year but contact will be less frequent and less intimate. We have simply moved on; moved apart to an extent and away from something which would never have worked.

There has been contact with and from various exes, one of whom things have been patched up with, another who continues to add gasoline to the fire which burns our bridges and no doubt more who will emerge. I shall cross those bridges as I get to them, if indeed there are bridges remaining to be crossed. My belongings have remained with one ex for the last year and I’m keen to clear them and any remaining traces of myself from that place, if only I had somewhere to go and put what I own into. Although I appreciate my things being taken care of, this is the wrong time of year to apply pressure as everywhere is closed and life must remain on temporary hold for a while.

I don’t need those things. I’ve lived without them for a year but I would like to once again be surrounded by the things which I own.

Until then and as has been the case for the last year, so long as I have the tools which I need to write, I have all that I need to lead the life that I’ve chosen. Material things would be a bonus but so long as I have Little Blue II and somewhere with internet access, my life is there. Even without the tablet and a permanent internet connection though, a simple pen and paper are all the tools I need to do what I love: to write. And of all the many things I have to be grateful for from the last year, the opportunity to be so prolific as a writer is a big one.

The writing is flowing again and I’ve revised my chapter notes for The Paradoxicon, so I’m ready to get back to that. The notebook – a paper one – I received as a gift sits alongside me and is filled with notes. I have notes on chapters, how to progress the book and place challenges in front of the main protagonist; I have an ending planned: one which should surprise most readers. On one side of Little Blue II, I have a cup of coffee, to keep me awake. On the other side, I have a glass of cider, to fuel the imagination. Scattered around me, I have various snacks and on top of the paper journal sits my tobacco, still in the tin I bought almost a year ago and still with the lighter in the gun cartridge sitting next to it. I’m a stereotypical writer, practically chain-smoking.

Chapter Four of The Paradoxicon is in my head, so I shall commit it to writing. It concerns travelling through time and space.